


music of the heart

by Livinei



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Getting Together, M/M, Major Illness, THERES A LITTLE BIT OF ANGST BUT ITS ALL A LOT OF FLUFF ULTIMATELY, also i love franz mozart so much lkgfgjlkjl, so does salieri haha, youll be fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 13:18:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15973103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinei/pseuds/Livinei
Summary: Mozart's son wants to learn piano, and who else would he choose to teach him if not Salieri?





	music of the heart

**Author's Note:**

> this took me longer than planned but i'm pretty happy with how it turned out!! enjoy <3

 

„Bye!” Franz yelled over his shoulder before getting in the car, waving back at the doorway. Mozart waved too. He didn’t go in this time, but he’ll go when he brings Franz back next week. Nan will probably have made that rhubarb pie that mom once taught them both to make but that she is so much better at.

Constanze and Nannerl both waved back at them. They looked happy. They always look happy together. Mozart is happy for them, too. _They deserve each other_ , he thought. Why on earth wouldn’t he be happy about that? Yes, he and Constanze had mutually decided that it was for the best that they split up, but that hadn’t meant that he’d had to lose one of his best friends, nor two when his sister and Constanze had gotten together. He loves them both so much. He couldn’t wish for anything better for them.

Franz buckled up and flashed him a grin that revealed a missing tooth, and Mozart smiled at the rear view mirror.

 

“I want to learn the piano,” Franz said while they were eating dinner, mouth full of unchewed food and eyes hopeful. Mozart knew that if he’s saying it, he’s been thinking about it for a while. Franz wasn’t the kind of kid who’d state something without giving it time to settle in himself. Mozart briefly thought how different _he_ was at the age of six.

“Oh, of course,” he responded, not even thinking about it. Like he’d ever deny music to his child.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

 

It soon became apparent that Mozart’s teaching style, at least for now, was a bit too much for his son. It was too hectic to understand, too ambitious to follow, even though Mozart could see that he tried. He tried so hard.

“I- I don’t… I’m sorry,” Franz mumbled, eyes guilty, face helpless, shoulders slumped in defeat. His hands were tiny on the keys, and suddenly Mozart was hit square in the chest with a memory of a time long ago, when his own tiny hands on the piano keys were the only thing he could see, the notes on the sheet that was a little too high to be comfortable to read. The towering figure of his dad, his beloved father next to the piano. When father spoke, he told him what he’s doing wrong, what was going badly, and Mozart knew he’s right, but it didn’t make him feel happy and he’s _trying,_ can’t you see? Could it, just for now, be enough that he’s _trying so hard_? He learned to feel a fragment of accomplishment when his father didn’t say anything, because that meant that he didn’t have anything to criticize, that was as good as a _good boy_. Except not really, but it was as close to it as he was going to get, and he took whatever he was given.

“It’s alright,” Mozart said, ruffling Franz’s hair, “You did good! Good boy.”

He sat down next to the boy, thinking it over.

“Maybe I’m not the best teacher for you right now,” he hummed under his breath, partly just to himself, but Franz looked up at him anyways.

“But then who’s going to teach me? I can try harder if I have to! I know I can.”

But Mozart shook his head,

“No, you already try hard enough, buddy. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

Franz needed someone patient. Someone calm. Someone better at adjusting the pace than he was. Suddenly, Mozart knew exactly who he needed.

“Hey, do you remember daddy’s friend Antonio? The man who played guitar at Nan’s birthday last year?”

 

“ _You want me to give your child piano lessons?”_ Salieri’s incredulous voice said over the phone. Mozart was sure if he could see him right now, his eyebrow would be raised.

“You sound surprised! Why wouldn’t I want you to teach my child?” he exclaimed, feeling laughter bubble up in his chest. It didn’t take a lot to feel happy when talking to Antonio. Most of the time, only hearing his voice did the trick.

“ _Well, for starters, his father is literally_ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. _Why would you_ want _somebody else to teach him?”_

“Antonio, you’re just as good as I am. I’ve dealt with your students before, and they know their stuff! Besides, you’re better at teaching younger kids than I am, I think I try to take too much at once for him.”

Mozart knew the answer from the surrendering sigh before Salieri even replied, but honestly, he hadn’t thought he’d decline in the first place.

“ _Alright,”_ Salieri said, and Mozart bounced a little on his feet.

“Awesome, thank you! When would it work for you?”

“ _All my evenings aside from Monday and Tuesday are free from around 5, and I’m not doing anything on weekends, so just drop him off whenever. Just let me know in advance. We can talk the details over when you come.”_

“Okay!”

 

Franz was a sweet kid, was what Salieri found further confirmation to the longer he tutored the child. He’d met him before, of course, but not for extended periods of time. Not for long enough to really get to know him. And Franz was a little shy, but he was also quick to warm up; by the end of the first week he was starting to greet Salieri with a wide grin and spend pauses telling him about his day, starting up conversations that oftentimes turned out to be more than interesting. Salieri had met few individuals who were as humble and good as Franz, had as untainted view of the world as this six-year-old. By the end of the third week Salieri was receiving hugs, carefree and easy just like Mozart’s.

And he wasn’t a bad student. He understood things quite well, Salieri just had to find the right way to explain. And finding the right way wasn’t hard at all once he understood the way Franz thought.

As time went on, although he didn’t spend time thinking about the technicalities, it felt less and less like teaching a friend’s kid, and more like teaching this child who had somehow become part of his family.

 

“Are you hungry?” Antonio asked, grabbing a plate for Franz without waiting for an answer. It was a correct choice, because Franz replied with an enthusiastic nod and scrambled up to sit at the dining table. They had finished piano practice for the day an hour ago and it was nearing 8PM, but it was far from uncommon for Mozart’s pick-up-Franz time to fluctuate, especially on weekends. In any case, it didn’t matter: Salieri loved having the kid around a lot more than he’d have thought he would a few months ago when he first started teaching him.

“Are you with your dad next week?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Franz replied cheerfully, after swallowing his food, “And the next week too, because mom is going to visit aunt Aloysia and then their parents for a week and Nan is going with her.”

Salieri hummed, and resumed to listen to what he was now being told about the time Franz visited his grandmother and accidentally got stuck in the guest room.

 

Antonio wasn’t quite sure when or how it happened but one moment there was a thud of a book falling to the floor from Franz’s hand, and then there was a smooth shift of weight in the boy and suddenly there was a sleeping child on his lap. There was no moving from the sofa for the rest of undetermined time being, he supposed.

After a while though, Salieri thought better of it. He managed to slip out from under Franz, picking him up to carry to the bed. The kid was small and scrawny even for his age, light as a feather. Though Antonio tried to be careful, Franz stirred for a moment.

“Dad?” he mumbled, barely opening his eyes.

“No,” Salieri softly replied, “dad’s not here yet.”

“Oh. You’re almost like a dad too,” Franz drowzily informed him, already slipping back into sleep, so Salieri almost didn’t understand what he’d said. Almost, but he did.

At half past nine, Mozart arrived.

“Hey, I’m sorry it took so long,” he whispered, smiling when he looked at Franz’s sleeping figure, but a couple of strange new twinkles appeared in his eyes when he turned his gaze at Salieri. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

“I wanted to call but then I got so caught up in everything and forgot. I hope it didn’t cause you any trouble?”

“Of course not, it’s fine.”

“I can carry him down to the car if you come to open the doors for me, but he’ll probably wake up,” Mozart said quietly, then looking hesitant. Mozart didn’t look hesitant often.

“Maybe, maybe he could sleep at your place for now and I’ll come pick him up tomorrow morning? If you don’t mind?”

If Mozart had asked him to take Franz for a month, Antonio didn’t think his answer would have been any different.

“I don’t mind.”

This time there were definitely twinkles in Mozart’s eyes as he smiled, and they were beautiful.

 

Mozart fell ill very suddenly. Very suddenly, and very severely. Two days of shaking and complaining of cold while his body temperature rose through the roof, not finding himself to be strong enough to get out of bed, and not being able to move any part of his body without being in pain later he was admitted to a hospital. And a week later, no doctor had figured out what was wrong with him or how to fix it.

And Salieri was worried, _god_ , it was eating him up inside. He tried not to think about it. He’d visited Mozart a couple times, and he _hated_ it, oh, he hated it so much, because Mozart was pale and frail and looked so easily breakable with all the tubes and machines attached to him, but he couldn’t _not_ go.

It was day ten of Mozart’s illness, and Salieri was about to take a look at a composition that one of his students had written, when a knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. He definitely didn’t expect to find Nannerl and Franz on the other side of the door.

“Hi, Antonio! Sorry for not calling up ahead, it isn’t a planned visit,” Nan said, giving him a soft hug as a greeting. She was smiling, despite everything, and Salieri was truly glad to see her, but he also noticed that there were bags under her eyes, and she didn’t look like she’d been sleeping very well lately. He knew that feeling. Boy, did he know.

“We were driving past your place and Franz wanted me to bring him here,” Nannerl continued, lightly touching the boy’s shoulder, “Piano practice, he said. Is this okay?”

“Of course. Do you want to come in?” he replied, looking at Franz for a moment, who’d made his way into the apartment already, and then back to Nannerl. She shook her head, though looking like she wanted to.

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I don’t have time to stay right now. Rain check?”

“Definitely.”

She gave him a grateful smile.

“Should I come pick Franz up at a certain time?”

“It’s alright, I can bring him home when we’re done.”

“Hey,” he said to Franz, sitting down next to him on the piano bench.

“You know, you don’t have to come to piano lessons right now. We can take a break until your dad gets better, if you want. I’m sure you want to be with him.”

But Franz looked up at him in all seriousness, and shook his head.

“I do, but I wanna practice with you! Then, when dad gets to come home from the hospital I can show him how much better I’ve gotten and he’ll be really happy,” he said, turning to look at the piano keys in front of him and hunching his shoulders a little, “Also I like to listen to you play, too.”

Sometimes, Salieri forgot how young this kid really was. Too young. Too young to think he has to choose between spending time with a family member while they’re sick, or sacrificing that to doing something that he thinks would make them glad in the long run.

“Okay, well, tell you what. We’ll practice for an hour, if that’s what you really want, and then we’ll go and see how your dad is doing, how’s that?”

Franz nodded.

 

There were mixed news. On the plus side, the doctors were now more certain on how to treat Mozart. But they’d arrived to the conclusion only because Mozart had gotten worse. He was much, much worse, and Salieri knew that everyone was doing all they could as fast as they could, but it didn’t feel enough. It looked terrifyingly like the doctors were racing against time.

They had a few minutes before the nurse would come back to take Mozart off to somewhere they couldn’t go along.

“Will you be okay?” Franz asked, clutching Mozart’s hand and staring at him with wide eyes. He didn’t quite understand the severity of the situation, and oh, Antonio was immensely grateful for that. Mozart gave the kid a weak smile, so weak. It seemed to pain him. When he spoke, his voice was rasp.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Mozart took a second to breathe, “hey, I love you so much, you know that, right? So much.”

“I know.”

“Do you still tell mommy and Nan “love you” before leaving for school?”

Franz nodded.

“Tell them that from me too, okay? Good boy.”

Franz nodded again, but Salieri felt like he’d just been stabbed through the heart. Mozart was _not_ saying his goodbyes-

Then, he looked at Salieri, and his eyes said everything before he even opened his mouth.

“Antonio-”

“No,” Salieri forced out, not being able to breathe quite right, feeling bile rise up his throat, because suddenly he was _scared_. He’d never been that scared in his entire life.

“I can’t take the risk that I’ll never get to tell you,” Mozart started again, and he looked wrecked, and like this was the only thing that mattered to him right now, but Antonio couldn’t listen to this when Mozart looks like he’s going to-

“You’re not going to die,” he snarled, not letting Mozart finish, and he knew he sounded almost angry but he couldn’t bring himself to care about his tone of voice right now.

“It feels like it,” Mozart sniffed, his voice breaking at the last word, and Salieri could see tears brimming his eyes, and it felt like he could die any second, too.

“Shut up,” he said, shaking his head, and stepped out of the way as the nurse came back and started preparing to take Mozart away, “you’ll tell me later.”

Mozart didn’t try to push it further, but he kept looking at Salieri while the nurse pushed the gurney towards the exit of the ward. And then, just before disappearing from view, he coughed out, “I love you.”

Salieri didn’t know almost anything after that. He might have cried. He probably did. He didn’t remember going to the waiting room, or calling Nannerl and Constanze. The only thing he was certain of was that there was a small hand gripping his own like a lifeline.

 

 

It’s been a couple months and Franz is getting better and better at playing the piano. Süssmayr likes to write a little simpler compositions for him to play, and one of those is currently being played on Salieri’s piano. He doesn’t need to spend every second overseeing Franz’s studying anymore because he has the ropes, so Salieri lets him practice on his own for the big part, until he’s ready to move on to more complicated things. The lessons are more loose now too. It doesn’t mean that Franz is at Salieri’s less often, quite the opposite. And sometimes Salieri goes to him instead.

There’s music in the air, and it’s getting late, but Mozart doesn’t let that stop him from pouring himself a cup of coffee and grinning when Salieri raises an eyebrow at that.

“Hey, buddy, we gotta go soon. It’s late o’clock,” Mozart calls to Franz, and Salieri smiles at the grumble that is heard from the other room.

“Why can’t we stay here, like last time?”

“Last time was weekend, but you have school tomorrow and your school stuff is at our place,” Mozart replies, and then looks back at Salieri, taking a sip of his coffee and giving Antonio a kiss right after. Unsurprisingly, it tastes like coffee.

“I do have to agree with him though, that everything would be a lot more convenient if we weren’t running between two places, don’t you think?” he says, an amused shine in his eyes, and Salieri laughs.

“Seems logical,” he answers, lacing their fingers together, “And we want to minimize inconvenience, right?”

“Yeah, we do.”

It's a beautiful evening. 


End file.
